Slave Girl of Gor

by John Norman

  I clenched the fists of my bound hands.

  He had opened the corridor in the brush. He had known I would not run. I had not known I would not run, but he had known. He knew the girl better than she knew herself. He knew she would, when the choice must he made, kneel to him and beg to be kept. It was not he, but she who had not known that she would beg to be kept. That was the point of his small demonstration, that she, not he, learn that she would not run, that she would beg to remain in the camp, that she would sue on her knees to be kept. And what was the lesson to be gathered from that, I asked myself, angrily. I squirmed in the bonds, furious. The lesson seemed a reasonably obvious one, though perhaps one unpleasant for an Earth girl to accept. What did he know about me that I did not know about myself? What did this discerning brute, so much the master of the lovely Judy Thornton, know about her which she herself did not yet know, or admit to herself? "No!" I wept. I felt Eta's hand, gentle on my head, comforting me. "No," I moaned. "No."

  But I knew that I had made a choice. He had then closed the thorn-brush corridor.

  He had led me to a man, him whom I had found the least attractive in the camp.

  It had then been designated to me that I would please him. Here there had been no bonds, no hooding. It had been I who must initiate action, I who must perform. I had choked back sobs. My will had bent helplessly beneath that of my master. I had knelt and, with hands and mouth, kissing and touching, attempted to please the free man. I tried to respond to the man's directions. I had done so poorly. I was an ignorant, clumsy, frightened girl, raw, uncooked "collar meat," as it is said. But, in time, he had thrown me beneath him and, I think with pleasure, conducted me through the throes of intimate service. I had resolved to attempt to resist him. My master observed. I wished to retain my personhood before my master, that he respect me. But, in less than a quarter of an hour, I had felt sensations overwhelming me which I could not resist. There had been tears in my eyes. Then, though my master observed, I had turned my head to one side, closed my eyes and cried out, and, unable to help myself, yielded to the man, Judy Thornton's lovely belly and haunches jolting in helpless slave orgasm.

  I now lay bound, naked under a thin blanket.

  Eta sat near me, to comfort me.

  No longer did the opportunity to run present itself. The wall of thorn brush had been closed. Leather confined my body. I was tied hand and foot. I could not even rise to my feet. I smiled ruefully to myself.

  The slave girl was well secured.

  But I was puzzled why I had been bound. Surely it had not been to prevent my escape. The wall of thorn brush, and the sheer cliffs, would be more than ample to prevent that. Why then had I been bound? I supposed, perhaps, it was for purposes of discipline. Binding is excellent discipline. It is often used on this world for that purpose. Restraints, their psychological indignity and physical discomfort, particularly after a time, placed upon a girl by the will of a master, are among the simplest and most effective instruments of female instruction; they rank with food and the whip; a girl, under disciplinary binding, once released, is invariably eager to please; she does not wish to be rebound; the thongs have well apprised her of her place, which is at her master's feet.

  But I did not think I was being disciplined. My master had not seemed dissatisfied with me.

  My performance had not been superb, but surely I had tried hard, under his will, to be pleasing as a slave girl to the man he had designated.

  My master had not seemed angry or irritated. I did not think I was being disciplined. Why then had I been bound?

  I had labored diligently, and without inhibitions, as well as I could, as a poor, beautiful, commanded slave.

  I had done the best I could.

  Why then had I been bound?

  I had tried to resist the man for several minutes, and had managed to do so. I had held myself tight and rigid, and had tried to hold in all feeling. I had not wanted my master to see me squirm as a slave.

  I was still deeply ashamed that I had yielded to the man.

  Then, as I lay there, bound, with Eta nearby, I asked myself why I should be ashamed? Was it wrong for a woman to yield helplessly to a man? Was it wrong for the heart to beat, to breathe, to feel? If the nature of the man were conquest and victory, what might then be the nature of the woman; could it be complementary; might it not be defeat, and delicious surrender and pleasure? I began to sweat in the bonds. Eta smiled at me. Perhaps an equal must resist a man, but I was not an equal; I was a slave girl! I belonged to men! I could be a biological woman, as perhaps a free woman could not. I could be a primitive female, an owned woman, as they could not. I could be a woman, as they could not. Slavery made me free to be a woman. I reared up, sitting, my hands tied behind me. I could not free myself. Eta held my shoulders gently. My eyes were wild. I had no choice. I was slave. I was forced to be a woman.

  I cried out with pleasure. Eta cautioned me to silence. I had resisted the man for several minutes. I had fought not to feel. How foolish I had been. What pleasure I had lost. I imagined myself then superbly yielding and kissing and melting in the arms of a master from almost his first touch, the lengthy, delicious pleasure that I could give him, his slave, a pleasure, too, which would make me want to scream with the joy of my womanhood.

  "Untie me, Eta," I begged. "Untie me!"

  She did not understand me.

  I turned my back to her, thrusting my bound hands piteously to her. "Untie me!" I begged.

  Eta shook her head gently, and held me. I had been tied by the master. I must remain bound.

  I shook my head with misery.

  I wanted to crawl to the men, to tell them I understood, to beg them to have me, to let me give them pleasure.

  I wanted to please them as a slave girl, theirs. My eyes were vulnerable with the helpless lust of a bound girl who would crawl to a man to serve him.

  I had not dreamed such an emotion could exist. It was not merely that I was eager to piteously and submissively display my beauty to them, that they might be moved to take it in their arms and vanquish it, but, beyond this, I was overwhelmed by an entire dimension of emotion which might be spoken of, though inadequately, as the desire to yield service and love. I wanted to give, unstintingly, with no thought of return. Always I had been concerned with what I might obtain. Now, for the first time in my life, in my joy and self-acceptance as a female slave, I wanted to give. I wanted to give all of myself, wholeheartedly, to deliver and bestow myself unto them as their girl, who loved them and would do all for them, asking nothing. I wished to be nothing, and to give all.

  I wanted to be their slave.

  I shook with the selfless ecstasy of the slave girl.

  I wanted to crawl to them to tell them that I now understood, and that I was theirs. I wanted to cry out to them, to weep, to kneel to them, to kiss and lick submissively at their bodies in my joy.

  "Untie me, Eta!" I wept.

  She shook her head.

  I knew I had not been as successful as I might have been in pleasing the man to whom my master had earlier commanded me.

  I looked at Eta. I looked to the sleeping men. I looked at Eta, again. "Teach me, Eta," I begged, in a desperate whisper, "teach me tomorrow to be pleasing to men. Teach me to be pleasing to men."

  Eta could not understand my words, but she could read my eyes, my looks, the movements of my body, my piteous needs. She smiled, nodding. She understood what was occurring in my body. I knew Eta would help me. She knew I was a slave. She would help me to be a better slave. Soon, I knew, when I learned more of the language, and could clearly, or more clearly, express myself, Eta would train me, as she could, in the giving of pleasures to masters. I kissed her.

  I struggled with the bonds.

  "Please untie me, Eta," I begged, again indicating the bonds. She smiled, and shook her head.

  I squirmed in the leather. I now knew why I had been bound. It was to prevent me from crawling to the men as a slave.

  I was not to in
terrupt their rest.

  I cried out in anger and misery, confined by the bonds. Eta cautioned me to silence.

  The men must not be disturbed.

  She then took me by the shoulders, to press me back, softly, to the ground. The thin blanket was about my thighs.

  Before she pressed me back, I, resisting, looked at her. "La Kajira," I said.

  Eta nodded. "Tu Kajira," she said. Then she indicated herself. "La Kajira," she said. Then she pointed to me. "Tu Kajira," she smiled.

  Then she gently pressed me back to the ground and, as I lay on my right shoulder, looking up, covered me with the thin blanket.

  I saw the moonlight on her steel collar. I envied her the collar, I, too, wanted to wear a steel collar. It had writing on it. It doubtless identified her master. I, too, wished to wear a collar, which might bear, too, the name of my master.

  Eta kissed me and rose to her feet and left.

  I lay under the blanket, naked, bound. I rolled to my back. I moved a bit, to find a place where I might lie comfortably. I did not move too much for I did not wish to dislodge the blanket. It would be difficult to replace should it come off in the night. I looked up at the night, the stars, the moons. I saw the cliff. I saw the guard on the height of the cliff. I then rolled to my right shoulder, moving the blanket as little as possible. I regarded the closed wall of thorn brush. I moved somewhat and looked at the furs, and, in some places, the tenting of the men.

  I turned my head and looked up at the moons. How wild and white and beautiful they seemed.

  Judy Thornton, or she who had once, on a remote and artificial world, been Judy Thornton, looked up at the moons.

  I remembered the lovely slave in the Ta-Teera which I had seen in the mirror. She, surely, had not been Judy Thornton.

  I was gloriously pleased to be that slave.

  I slept out of doors, in a camp of barbaric men. Above me were the bright stars in a black sky, and three moons. I lay under a thin blanket. I was naked. There was a brand on my thigh. I was a bound slave girl.

  I was not unhappy.

  I looked up at the moons. "La Kajira," I said. "I am a slave girl."

  5

  The Raid

  "What is your duty?" asked my master.

  "Absolute obedience," I replied, in Gorean.

  He held the whip to my lips. I pressed my lips to it, and kissed it. "Absolute obedience," I said.

  Eta, from behind me, pinned the first of five veils about my face. It was light, and shimmering, of white silk, almost transparent. Then, one after the other, she added the freedom veil, or veil of the citizeness, the pride veil, the house veil, and street veil. Each of these is heavier and more opaque than the one which lies within. The street veil, worn publicly, is extremely bulky, quite heavy and completely opaque; the lineaments of the nose and cheeks are scarcely discernible when it is worn; the house veil is worn indoors when there are those present who are not of the household, as in conversing with or entertaining associates of one's companion. Veils are worn in various numbers and combinations by Gorean free women, this tending to vary by preference and caste. Many low-caste Gorean women own only a single veil which must do for all purposes. Not all high-caste women wear a large number of veils. A free woman, publicly, will commonly wear one or two veils; a frequent combination is the light veil, or last veil, and the house or street veil. Rich, vain women of high caste may wear ostentatiously as many as nine or ten veils. In certain cities, in connection with the free companionship, the betrothed or pledged beauty may wear eight veils, several of which are ritualistically removed during various phases of the ceremony of companionship; the final veils, and robes, of course, are removed in private by the male who, following their removal, arms interlocked with the girl, drinks with her the wine of the companionship, after which he completes the ceremony. This sort of thing, however, varies considerably from city to city. In some cities the girl is unveiled, though not disrobed, of course, during the public ceremony. The friends of the male may then express their pleasure and joy in her beauty, and their celebration of the good fortune of their friend. The veil, it might be noted, is not legally imperative for a free woman; it is rather a matter of modesty and custom. Some low-caste, uncompanioned, free girls do not wear veils. Similarly certain bold free women neglect the veil. Neglect of the veil is not a crime in Gorean cities, though in some it is deemed a brazen and scandalous omission. Slave girls may or may not be veiled, this depending on the will of their master. Most slave girls are not permitted to veil themselves. Indeed, not only are they refused the dignity of the veil, but commonly they are placed in brief, exciting slave livery and may not even bind their hair. Such girls, healthy and vital, their hair unbound, their considerable charms well revealed by the brevity of their costume, are thought by men to constitute one of the more pleasurable aspects of the scenery of a city. Are the slaves of Ar, for example, more beautiful than those of, say, Ko-ro-ba, or Tharna? Men, the beasts, heatedly discuss such questions. In some cities, and among some groups and tribes, it might be mentioned, though this is not common, veils may be for most practical purposes unknown, even among free women. The cities of Gor are numerous and pluralistic. Each has its own history, customs and traditions. On the whole, however, Gorean culture prescribes the veil for free women. Eta fastened the fourth of five veils upon me, the house veil. Though Eta wore only the shameful, scandalous Ta-Teera, she pinned the veils expertly. She, now only a delicious, half-naked slave girl, had once been free. She did her work beautifully.

  I felt the street veil fastened upon me. I was veiled as might have been a rich Gorean free woman of high caste, perhaps bound for the song dramas of En'Kara.

  "How beautiful," said Eta. She, standing back, observed me. My master's eyes appraised me.

  I stood straight. I knew how beautiful I looked, for, once before, some days ago in the camp, I had been so beclothed. I had seen myself, then, in the mirror.

  The robes, carefully draped, primarily white, in their richness and sheen, were resplendent; over the veils my eyes would appear very dark. Gloves had been placed upon my hands. On my feet were scarlet slippers.

  I knew that I was richly and beautifully bedecked. I knew, too, that I was small, and might be easily thrown to the shoulder of a man.

  My master looked at me.

  He put his hands on my shoulders.

  "Do you dare place your hands on the body of a free woman," I asked him, deferentially adding, "Master?"

  He stepped back. He regarded me thoughtfully. "Insolent," said he to himself, as though thinking, "that a mere slave should be placed in such garments."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Have I ever lashed you?" he asked.

  I swallowed hard. "No, Master," I said.

  "I should do so, sometime," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It would scarcely do to run her in the Ta-Teera," said one of his men, standing nearby.

  "Doubtless not," said my master, looking at his owned girl. How incredibly, and yet rationally and justifiably, I felt at his mercy. He was my master. He owned me. He could do whatever he wanted with me. He could trade me or sell me, or even slay me upon a whim, should he wish. I was absolutely his, his girl.

  "She is beautiful," said Eta.

  "She will have to do," said my master.

  "They are camped not two pasangs from here," said one of the men.

  A black cloak was brought. It was wrapped about me.

  "Come, Slave Girl," said my master.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He turned about and, with his weapons, strode from the camp. I followed him, at his heel, where a slave girl belongs.

  Eta remained behind.

  The other men, the warriors, single file, fell into line behind us, following.

  * * * *

  "Be silent," said my master.

  I did not speak. Together, the men behind us, we observed the camp. There were more wagons in the retinue now. When first I ha
d seen the retinue, several days ago, there had been only one, which had carried supplies.

  The largest of the three moons was now full.

  The camp lay nestled in a clearing in woods. A stream ran by one perimeter of the camp. This was joined by another stream, some two hundred yards beyond the camp. Guards had been posted.

  "Quiet is the night," called one to the other. He was similarly answered.

  I knew, by now, a smattering of Gorean. I could understand them. Eta had worked diligently with me. I could now respond swiftly to many commands. I knew the names of many articles. I had acquired some grammar. I was able to formulate simple sentences by myself. My masters could now command me, the barbarian girl, with relative satisfactoriness, in their own tongue, and I, to some extent, the lovely, barbarian slave from Earth, could respond to them in the tongue of my masters, theirs. I now, artlessly, unable to help myself, found myself thinking naturally of Gorean as the language of masters. It is a beautiful, melodious, expressive language. It is also, in the mouths of men, a strong, powerful, uncompromising language. When a girl is commanded in Gorean, she obeys.

  I watched the guards, through the trees, make their rounds. There were several tents in the camp. In the center of the camp was a striped tent, almost a pavilion, supported on ten poles. I saw one of the girls, with bare arms, robed in classic white, unveiled, emerge from the central tent and, with a gourd dipper, go to the stream, where she filled the dipper and thence returned to the tent. There was a golden circlet on her throat, and another on her left wrist. One of the men had looked at her as she had walked past him. There was a fire in the tent, and smoke from this fire emerged from a hole at the tent's apex. Within, as they passed between the wall of the tent and the fire, I could see the shadows of one or two other girls. Near the central tent, almost as large, was a brown, turreted tent, with a pennon flying from a central pole. It was, I supposed, the tent of the camp's leader. There were some seventy or eighty men, I had conjectured several days ago, in the retinue. I could now see several sitting around open-air fires. Others were, I supposed, within the tents, perhaps sleeping.